Elizabeth and God exist in a sunflower grave. Her mother and father slit her stomach open and watched the contents pour out like
spaghetti confetti.

Tommy, Elizabeth's boyfriend, rode his ocean blue Huffy, until the tread on his tires grew bald and until the grips were blanketed by dead skin. Looking for her, panoramic views of the horizon leapt beside him. Silhouettes of his legs, churned and kissed the orange and caramel dusk. With every tear in his hamstrings and calves, the **** in his sky grew and swallowed the memory of Elizabeth Mendenhall, Honor Student.

Margot, Elizabeth's twelve year-old sister, was an idealistic soul. Taking a Sharpie, she wrote on her sister's wall, "Liz, there is no death greater than the loss of self, and no life greater than one where we continuously search for what self is." Margot struggled with concentrating and frying eggs - but focused on the sunflower garden, dangerously and perfectly.

Hilary and Brendan were thirty-five and thirty-six years-old. They stabbed their daughter thirty-seven times. They don't know why they did it, they just couldn't think of a reason not to do it.

She begged for her life. The yellow petals of the sunflowers caught blood-drops and, after enough struggle, floated down to kiss and lay on Elizabeth's slow-twitch body. Hilary looked at Brendan and said, "What does this mean?" Brendan shrugged and said, "This is new to me."

The garden was an oven, and digging her grave was like pulling back on a cheap, plastic latch. Elizabeth had pale, pre-cooked pie crust skin. The slits in her stomach looked like peeks into a cherry stuffed filling. Crinkled lips looked indented by a stainless steel fork, back and forth, side to side. And the soil rained upon her like the reversal of hot vapor, returning home.

Elizabeth and the Sunflower Garden.

Harried, Harassed, Hassled and Hounded-
These are the H-words I work by.

Harpies and Henchmen, Harridans and Heathens-
These are the H-folk I work with.

Hubbub and Hokum and Hurly-burly-
These are the places I do it.

Hoodlums and Hooligans, loaded with Hubris-
These are the clients I deal with.

Heartless and Horrible, Hateful and Hurtful
These are the attitudes around me.

Hopeless and Hapless, Haggard and Helpless-
This is the way I usually feel.

What happened to Happy, and Hopeful and Harmony-
These are the H-words I search for.

Hinder and Hobble, Heckle and Hamper-
These are the Hamstrings that trip me.

Heaven and Harmony, Humor and Honor-
These are the things that I strive for.

Havoc and Hades, Hurt, Hate and Hauteur-
These are the H’s that I have to conquer.

Hope, Help, and Herculean effort-
Is How I will finally get myself Home.
ljm

an octagon tent
wide enough that chucking rollies
to the sand made impossible
sprawled layers
you turned to quote Dali
told me how pale blue washed with lucy
shimmered skyline into dimension
acryllic-smeared sass drips canvas
into murmurs circling dilation
dimethyltryptamine stains
painting dreams on my eyelids
with flowerbrushes and silk,
mushroom dust gathers in discarded hues
on your pallet, where the colors of your irises
dry into a nebula of night-blooming jasmine
the scent of how you move when you sleep
and sleeping is never so sweet
as dancing through lucidity
with you as my sheets.
and i've traced your thumbprint so often
i'm sure if it were stretched around a marble
like buffalo skin on spirit-caller drums,
a globe would be seen
in which Greenland is finally proportionate--
the map on my wall always bothers you,
but I do too, and everyone does,
urging me under the geography
etched into the sea of your surface
by the crucible of your purpose
and working me into
empty behind your right
below the 22
between i'ching
and the forty two names of god
clasping your fore in silver
copper wound around my finger
hamstrings woven like wire
kambaba jasper, two to share
you hang Tibetan tektites
to elevate space
meteorite fragments
lodged in your helix,
stardust blood,
mandala sand from your mother,
and our tendons wrappe
by dexterous carpals
make such a pretty pendant
of my heart,
for synesthesia mistakes not
and my addiction to the pen has eased
for you breathe murals
and syllables never could
match brushtrokes of carbon dioxide.

Who says you can't arm twist yourself into doing practically anything? Victoria Beckham — stylish mum, fashion empire czarina and social diva — took that notion a **** few notches higher as she posted a picture of herself on a sofa on a photo sharing site, leg extended high above her head at 90 degrees. The picture went viral immediately with a huge buzz around her impressive flexibility. She captioned the photo, 'It's amazing what you can do in culottes...those ballet classes are paying off!' (sic) It's not the first time she has showed off her moves. Last year in Singapore too, she kicked her stiletto-clad feet into a high pose as she relaxed on a sofa.

These celebs are advocating it, too...

Posh Spice aka Victoria isn't the only one. British actress Kelly Brook showed of her flexi *** on her sitcom show. Actresses like Reese Witherspoon and Jennifer Aniston have also taken up exercise regimens that stretch their bodies to the limit. Angelina Jolie's workouts are said to include the stability ball leg, squats and kickboxing, known build flexibility and balance. Jessica Biel is a firm follower of her five days a week cardio with strength training and pilates classes that have been credited with getting her such a lean ***. And Megan Fox ensures she is flexible, too.

Advantages of being stretchy

Being flexible and stretching out is not the realm of just gymnasts, athletes or swimmers. Anyone can and should be like that, for it's not just before starting a workout that one faces tight hamstrings and a sore back and neck. These are issues that plague those with sedentary jobs as well. Thus, flexibility can help in gym training and dealing with the stressors of everyday life. It also helps the body to heal. Increased flexibility also leads to improved posture. Once the earlier tightness goes away you start to sit right and walk better, too.

How Much?Stretching muscles twice a week is enough to build overall flexibility.

For anyone

A common myth is that being flexible will only work with younger people. It is actually for anyone of any age

Exercises to help you get there

Chest dumbbells: Lie flat on a bench, holding dumbbells in either hand. Now lift the dumbbells overhead together and slowly bring them back. This stretches the pectorals.

Abs stretch: Sit on the ground with the ankles facing each other and the knees flexed. Now put pressure on the knees and press them to make them touch the ground. Hold this for 20 seconds and repeat.

Shoulders delt: Hold the elbow of one arm with the other hand and pull the elbow across the chest. Hold and repeat for the other hand.

Curling cat: Kneel down on all fours and curl the back upwards in the same position. Hold this and start again. This increases flexibility of the back.

Hamstring stretch: Place your leg on any raised area in front you, like a stool or chair. Now, extend it straight without bending the knees and bend the torso to touch the toes. Hold for 15 seconds and repeat.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-melbourne

those hamstrings have seen enough arias
to spring at any moment -
that jumping for a reason.
could be made futile
with a lingering scent of
try again’...

that’s when you sleep.outside
without a torch on your tongue
to scorch the hubris of talking.
nothing to verify by fire
only the ashes in your
mouth.

with nothing to speak of you drone into virtual kismet,
pandering for Mandalas
on the east side of a red herring cannery, but docile -
like a red fern-wolf’s bane clawing at black holes
in broad daylight.
velocity unknown… but by all accounts, a frenzy.
with nothing to clarify by desire
only massless, heavy -
things.

Rest easy, read these heavy words of slumber,
tap your chest to the beat of your heart,
empty out breath even from the deepest parts
the void, will fill itself, with sleep, I hope for your sake.

Scrunch those toes to close, then let them relax and let go,
Half close those toes and let them loose, shake them once and again,
Tense those calves, feet pointed at the ceiling, if you are willing,
Go half way and shake the tension away, from you,
Quads and hamstrings, next remember in pretext, full and halfway,
shake the tension away,,
gluteus maximus
then abdominals
and lower back
and in their turn
chest, those pecs to reflex and relax
latissimus dorsi, my oh my you got your back
shoulders,
hands of fingers, just like the toes,
pretty soon you might doze,
forearms, biceps and triceps too,
neck and face shrug and scrunch,
you don't have the answer,
so pucker your face,
eyes are the last close them once,
eyes are the last close them half,
eyes are the last,

I hope you never read this far,
unless you are awake, after a
night of rest fullness, so if it does
not work, know this, I will sit by
your side so you can unwind,
I have a good year for listening,
on pillow soft words, for you to put
your sleepy heavy head.


Good...night...yawn

my fingers are spindles of thread, unwoven from blankets of strong women who fought harder fights than I could withstand.
my neck is a porcelain clock. engraved with wisps of words, it's cogs churning to keep my brain functioning.
my torso is an storm. lightning leaves scars acrioss the lining of my stomach, spreading out like spiderwebs, covered in dew. thunderheads boom when I walk, rattling my ribs and awakening this hummingbird heart.
my spine is a garden, blooming. daisys and forget-me-nots bloom from the soil tilled into my veterbrae.
My hamstrings are tightrope across the twin towers, quivering.
My knees are doorknobs left unturned, the room contents dusty and cobwebs string the corners.

Butchers used to hang their pigs (ham) by the tendons (strings) in the back of the knee. The Hamstrings are actually 3 different muscles that work together to extend the hip    and flex the knee.
Basically the hamstrings most important job is to make sure your leg doesn’t fly off your body when you run.
Yes, Found words with capitals. Then there are cheeestrings which i find taste of  nothing
in particular.
He was not tongue tied in the medical sesnse, he stammered and was bullied over it. While
I stood by with love and embarrasment .
We have since learned a thing or more.
Then there is the thread to consider,                             yet I understand that some use thorns.
Stories continue of bound feet and
crippling
people.
He suggested that body dysmorhia may be at the heart of things.                                           bdd.
I fear he may be right.

Research Albino.

sbm.

Stale greens served again
At the same tables
Echoed conversations amidst the
Glow of brilliant faces
In a room, a windowless
Place of task and
Of mere knowing

We traded desire for
Errant follow-though
Like chapped lips locked
Where we might have gone
- A mouth of salty water -
If we had not stayed
- A chassis’ curdled rust -

We dream of tired eyes
Sleepless till the dawn
Sore hamstrings while running
Chasing the stuff unknown
A lemon meringue
First ****, then toothsome
So inspired by where we reach

cannot live by living
sublimate

intractable life the way
a poet of mangled hands burns away
incessant blankness
to a hot glowing moment wherein
his excision, sought after,
lives.

Whatever way is taken
a fire therein will burn

to majestically disfigure
the unfigurable in your life

the way a drinking straw made of
plastic transforms
in lips of flame

to curlicued ribbons and
blazing involutions, coiled springs and
brightly curled
imaginings of crimson.

Choose to run
and so too will the fibers in your hamstrings
curl, glow crimson
as under fire.

Sit quiet on the marble steps
of a dried fountain in Union Square
watching the looming arch through
the crisp distance of night

and so too will your eyes become
incendiary orbs
heating the air around
to transient veritable sharpness

as if suddenly, every piece of
stone or root of tree
has been released from
a hold
and could at any moment
flinch for you. For
just your witness
and nothing more.

Attempt to find the dream of death
hidden within the taste of
your one beauty’s lips
and so upon the kiss will she

burn, explode!
in quick high flame
to a pile of
shrunk dust and scintillating
strands of hair.

Whichever way, all can burn
to release its true form—hardly sweet
seeming unbearable

before curling
just barely sweet, just bearably, always just
necessarily so.

And slowly, you are already
curling in the flames.

Adorned once again
in somber black,
standing in a row
all inhale an aroma
of purifying incense
from burning charcoal
inside a Thurible
flowing in coherence
with the arm of the balding priest
who prances as a peacock,
circling three times past the altar table.

Buttocks bump against
weathered and worn
relic pews.
Muscles strain to tighten hamstrings
sending messages  
telling the body to please sit.

Tears flow without
the gush that erupted a year ago.
Now the gentle drain
is like shallow
hillside waterfalls in autumn.
Grievous pain is so familiar except
the lava of volcanic emotions
has cooled.
Tissues passed from hand to hand
as those who  anticipated
the display
take care of those
sure they would not cry
or who merely denied
the tempo of the day.

Incantations dwell near the icons
splashed gloriously on the wall.
Chants to forgive sins
of the deceased
combine with pleas
for divine intervention
to elevate the Valhalla home
upward a notch or two.
Blessed wine and sacred bread
distributed to all
who keep the faith
as did the beloved son,
husband, and brother.

My heels clip on
London concrete.
My hamstrings strain
To increase my stride.
I slalom around
Pavement zombies,
Phone junkies,
Loitering monkeys.

Don’t they see?
I’m late for a meeting
With a client of grandeur.
A key player.
A major money man.
(I can’t drop the name
Due to a
Signed NDA).

It was suppose to be
A blue sky meeting
On a grey winters morning.
But I slept too long,
And the tube
Went wrong,
And now I’ve
Got the dreads.

If I’m late,
My rep will be tarnished.
I’ll never secure
Another meeting again.
Because in this town,
Time is a diamond
We can’t possess.
But we know it exists;
Out there on the outskirts,
Out there in the sticks.

It’s below freezing but I’m
Working a sweat;
A pavement cardio,
A sidewalk rodeo,
A street athletics show.
There’s no way I am going
To be on time.
It’s curtains for me;
I’ve sealed my P45.

Finally I arrive.
I collapse at the entrance,
My power-walk ending
In a muted reception.
I approach the desk.
‘Yes?’
Glared a future
X-factor entrant.

‘Good morning.
I’m here to see
The top brass.
The big cheese.
The head honcho.
I was delayed, but please,
Pass my humblest regrets,
I am spinning a lie
Which I hope he accepts.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’
The young lady chewed.
‘The Great Man is away,
Tanning on a beach.
You’ll need to reschedule;
He returns in two weeks.’

There are few responses that fit when you fall away
from all the things you love most.
After so many reinventions, so many changes
I don't know who I am anymore.
I thought I knew what I was chasing, but
in the end, I was wrong.
I've changed directions and I can't get back, even
to where home is a distant memory.
I can't recognize my surroundings, the world I
built with my choices.
All doors are locked and windows closed,
walls are padded, eyes are dim.
I don't want to die trapped in my own foolish
insecurities and mistakes.
I don't want to become just a soldier, marching
this lonely road to the end.
I hate looking in the mirror and seeing my own
accusing eyes, reminding me.
Rip and tear, claw and bring to ruin this palatial
tower of misrepresentation.
Wear my fingers to the bone with insignificant
self-promises and fleeting hope.
I will be free one day.
Silence the voice of failure and my near silent
misgivings that cut the hamstrings of hope
and push me deeper into the prison of
despair and self loathing.
I will be free.

Why bother.
It is a pointless folly
To try.
Life has no
Inner meaning,
No hope,
No beauty,
Only pain.
If I want to leave,
There are many ways.
I can jump off of my roof,
Diving head first
To our cement sidewalk.
I can slice open my wrists and
Cut my hamstrings
So that I cannot
Move,
Simply lying there,
Bleeding out.
I can take a full glass,
Enough to get  me drunk,
Then another
Then another
Until I am too far gone,
Destroyed by alcohol,
But mostly by myself.
I could grab some rope,
Like the character in my book,
With all his little details
Based off of me,
Tie it into a noose and
Swing it around the ceiling fan
In my room,
Tying it tight as I
Stand upon my
Woven blue office chair,
Then sticking my neck
Through the hole and
Kicking away the chair,
Kicking away the pain.
I could stab myself,
Only once,
Aiming for my neck,
Hoping to sever the cord
That keeps me alive.
But all of that,
Save maybe the alcohol,
Seems like far too much trouble
To set up.
It’s too hard to
Tie the rope,
Sever the skin,
Or stab in
Through my neck.
Perhaps I could just walk up,
Up to my room,
Up upon my bed,
Rolling open the window,
Crawl out and
Make a small jump out to the roof,
Scrambling to hold on.
Maybe then I’d find
Some glory in the struggle,
Some faint reason to live.
But more likely I’d simply
Cut out the middle man,
Save myself from the pain,
And leap off,
Face-first,
Towards the solid ground.

I want to die,
But without the effort
Of killing myself.
I don’t think
I’ll do something
To end my own life,
But if a car was coming
Straight at me,
At a killing speed,
I don’t think
I’d jump out
Of the way.

Doctor gave me the news, it was a good
time to buy new running shoes,

Feet slap and screech with each stride,
Biomechanic required to repair the ride,

Pounds shed I no longer dread pounding,
lightly on concrete or asphalt, grounding,

My turbulent times, no reason or rhyme,
To the day, my thoughts have plenty of time,

To play as I run away from home, smiling,
So pleased to be alone among the crowd, filing,

On and off busses, engines make noises like cusses,
Cars eating people, personalities seated in trusses,

For their own safety,

While heels kick back, legs move at the speed,
and pace where there is always sound and greed,

To be first to run the red-light but
On my heart right to that red line,

Hamstrings cry taute like strings,
My mind wanders to many things,

To some people, to a person,
Beckon me run, all that way

And I will.

How did I get here? at least a year in the making,
took on the job, it was a terrible mess of an undertaking,

If I can do it so can you,
Don't wait till your fifty four,
Start when your thirty nine,

Write down all that you eat,
You recognize each day the feat,

To stop eating, at the right point.

Get enough sleep,

Aerobic activity, found a
British study from, London see?

Muscular mobility, range of motion
under load agree, let me, ask you,

What did you do as a child, how did
you have physical fun, what did you
do in your youth, not to relive the pain,
and the strain of bad coaching or none.

Capture your life as first prize
in the only race that counts,
living to beat of the distant drum,
you run I will follow,
you set the pace, I will holler
your arrival, to set your rival,
Death on his heels,
we will chase him back the way,
he came, that will be your claim,
"Raced Death and Still Running"

hi again darling,
this week I worked
so hard my hamstrings
are screeching from sitting,
and somehow I’ve learned to sleep
eyes wide open.

Honey I’m tired
but I don’t mind bringing home bacon.
after all, if you’re going to call me
lakshmi of the house,
I better find some gold
before you blow the conch.

this week I worked
through a sea of dead
names and
dead faces of friendly strangers
that kinda looked like you
and I toiled through another
pandemic-ridden seven days
even from home I’m wearing
a mask because
it’s too hard to see tragedy
and be working instead.

So on my break
I retweet
fleet,
press some of that goddess gold
into the digital donations,
because even a world away
even if you don’t see it,
there’s little wealth
in work.

Below
my beautiful
dark red twisted
poster,
she takes off
her poker face, and
wears my hands
like a choker.
I'm close
to you,
but closer still
I slide
lower.
Let go
of everything except
my pillow. Be
risky **** nasty.
Give me
your hamstrings
and sing until
we stain
the sheets every
day every
week.

I stretched myself to reach the length of the earth
Ripped and tore my hamstrings
Dislocated my joints to wrap around the earth
Felt so big I knew I was the beginning and end
Let my tears fertilize the soils
I gave birth to spring
And let the moon baptize my son
I looked around and asked for the world to remember me
Beyond Nefertiti, I am the woman who washed her feet
I too am worth being celebrated

TELL ME SOMETHING KNEW
Please don’t tell me something
I already know, or believe that I don’t
      already know it.
There is nothing new under the Sun.
And the Sun could die at any moment.
I have yet to encounter anyone possessing
      such an abundance of knowledge
      that it would impress me.
So off on your merry way; I’ll have no
      hamstrings cut on me.
Ain’t got no-strings to hinder me.
All I see is human-ridiculosity & no clear
      way to avoid it’s absurdity.
— Ray Laccetti

We could stretch
Our time, look at our legs
Tilt to the bellied fluttering of our hamstrings and heartstrings
Stirring our soul, and pushing out the sighs and pulling in the ties
We just made love

I have twitched
And bewitched
Myself into a half-man and wolf of hamstrings made of heartstrings
Tearing out of the Vitruvian circle, livin' up in the absolute progressive ellipse
Brimming without you and within you, and escape the slips
Of whips and the crimson red of the lysergic chemicals

everytime you have ***,
especially if youre positioned over the girl in military style with your straightened back
  and tightened glutes and hamstrings with your neck aligned parallel
thrusting
in unison with the metronome,
you always think ''
oh yeah, I'm just doing a workout at your leisure"
and when the *** seeps out of your **** and you roll away,
you stand up
and shake your head in disappointment
and **** on your cigarette stained with
***** juice.
that cigarette is always amazing afterwards though,
and so is the
drive home